


For The Unseen

by Witchtomez



Series: Mysme Halloweek 2018 [4]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Hopeful Ending, Light Angst, Mysmehalloweek 2018, Prompt: Childhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-28 09:18:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16720602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchtomez/pseuds/Witchtomez
Summary: It wasn't that Zen feared ghosts; it washowthey existed





	For The Unseen

It wasn’t that Hyun Ryu didn’t believe in ghosts exactly–-his strange dreams gave him a slightly wider perspective on the supernatural realm and the possibilities within: it was the constant comparisons to ghostly pale specters that fade in and out of sight, crying to be heard but only ever ignored or scorned by the living-– _those_ allusions were responsible for his absolute aversion to anything to do with the spirit realm.

So much so that when his brother, his only support through the pain, became another source of cruel criticism, the boy fled prematurely from his home and his name before finding his own to present to the world at large.

When he was small with bright red eyes shining in awe at everything around him, Hyun would learn to mimic expressions from the silly kids darting through the hallway and the nearby field. It wasn’t until he was 3 that the boy stopped when his mother snapped at him for making faces and giggling at an apparently empty playground.

As he grew older and the constant verbal jabbing only increased, Hyun decided he’d make as many faces as he wanted since nothing he did or didn’t do would satisfy his parents anyway-–his older brother enjoyed his play acting well enough and would give hearty applause when they were alone and it was those moments Hyun treasured most.

Once his brother had long stopped clapping and began to join in the ridicule, Hyun was only left with the silent applause and smiles from the apparitions that seemed to trail him at a distance; he then left his home in a fit of passionate anger, his frustrations and limits long overtaxed. For a time after that, Hyun was quite alone.

Without the constant abuse hurled at him for the appearance he couldn’t help, it finally felt quiet enough for him to think about what he really wanted. Unfortunately all he could hear at the time were the echoes of vitriol that stirred up his hurt and anger like phantom wounds, tearing at the mental scars that were still so tender.

So he let his pain and anger guide him for a few years, leading him from one dead end to another; bad decision after bad decision until after one night of binge drinking and smoking, Hyun found himself puking next to a dumpster before dissolving into miserable tears in a wet, dingy alleyway.

The gang that had ‘taken him in’ had grown tired of him as apparently had the girlfriend who’d sworn she only had eyes for him-–there was no big brother to lift him up and dust him off before assuring him that there were better days ahead.

“You done with your low point scene yet?”

_-?!_

Squinting his bloodshot eyes, Hyun tried to focus on the voice that had materialized seemingly out of nowhere until they finally fell on the man neighboring him against the grimy brick wall. Blinking deliberately, he was certain he must have gone well over his alcohol limit as the man appeared to fade around the edges, giving him a wispy and unearthly appearance.

“Hey, boy…come on, don’t make a face like you’re going to puke while I’m talking to you–-I’m asking: are you done with this low point? If you’re going to make a spectacle of yourself, you should pick a better stage than this shit heap.”

“…Yo-–uughh…you…what are you talking…? You…you wanna fight? Let’s g–-huurgghhh!” Hyun attempted a rebuttal, but was interrupted by his own stomach rebelling against him. Wiping his mouth, he let himself be pushed back against the wall to rest until a finger flicked against his forehead.

“Don’t go to sleep on me yet, I’m not done. Nothing dignified about becoming an alleyway ghost, you spook.”

“M'NOT-–! Not a…not a ghost!”

“Oh? Pale and moaning in pain as you are, you’re certain?” the gravelly voice lilted mockingly.

“You shut up! Ghosts are…they’re sad and-–they’re stuck and everyone ignores them; can’t see them, or hear them. They just _exist_ without being acknowledged and people say they’re terrible anyway-–that’s not gonna be me!”

There was a drawn out pause after that, only the slow dripping of water from the storm drains echoing off the brick and concrete.

“Gimme the bottle, kid.” Hyun swayed but focused to keep eye contact. Despite his monstrous recovery rate, the man’s visage didn’t seem to become any clearer despite his gradual sobering.

“Come on, hand it over–-it’s empty.” Realizing he was right, Hyun turned over the bottle to shake out the last drops before surrendering it to his alley mate who promptly tossed it in the nearest dumpster. When he returned, there was another considerate pause before the man spoke again.

“…So you’re not going to be a ghost, huh? Well then, what’s the plan to make people see you?”

A wave of nausea clenched at Hyun’s stomach, but he’d already emptied the contents earlier, sparing the alleyway an encore. The question had ultimately been the one he’d been asking and running away from the last few nights. Weeks.

**_Years._ **

“I…I don’t–-” voice cracking, heat began to creep down his face. A soft clap on his shoulder jarred his eyes open.

“Yes, you do–-think about where you feel _alive_.”

_'Alive…?’_

Bloodshot carnelian eyes closed slowly and Zen took slower breaths to let the question sink in. The place he felt alive? He wasn’t sure yet, but…

...

* * *

A theater had opened up in the neighborhood about two months ago; during their setup, he had snagged a little bit of money helping with cleanup and stage preparation. Part of the desperation for haste was due to the first scheduled show being in 3 weeks-–which led to actors rehearsing for hours on end amidst the chaotic clean up and construction of the various props.

Without really meaning to, Hyun had heard the script so much that he had been able to recite the lines verbatim which gave him a small thrill considering the depth of the material.

When the first musical had wrapped up, Hyun somehow found himself on the stage long after everyone else had already gone home, standing in the spotlight as though it was warming him from the inside. He paced around the little tape markings for key stage locations until he set one foot directly on the scotch-taped 'X’…and the lines of the key scene for that spot came pouring out of his mouth, his voice rising and ebbing with the lead character’s fierce internal monologue as it guided his every inflection, expression and movement.

As he’d drawn the scene to a close, Hyun remembered feeling his heart race as though he stepped out of his own body and into another; the reality came back as a staggering blow, making his steps hesitant and unsure. He had bolted from the theater then, but…

…he couldn’t deny how _right_ it had felt.

…

* * *

“You in there still?” the rough voice broke through his reverie, but Hyun noticed he no longer felt sick.

“…I know what I want…” he answered, very quietly. The man shifted on blurry feet, leaning to one side.

“--'But’?”

“…I don’t want to just be looked at–-I want people to see me. I mean really see me…”

Despite the raspy tone, there was something decidedly light about the man’s laughter in that moment.

“Well then there’s no problem, is there? Your face is almost as good as mine; just show 'em a reason to keep watching, eh?”

Before Hyun could decide whether or not he appreciated the bellowing laughter, he was lifted away from the wall back onto his feet and ushered out of the shadows back toward the streetlights.

“Go where you feel alive and then make it the place you belong. You pull that off and no one will have a choice but to see you.”

Feeling the ticklish urge of teenage rebellion rising, Hyun shook his shoulders and growled.

“All right, fine! Just quit barking at me, you old gasbag!”

To his dismay, another shout of laughter met his ears as he stomped away.

“Hey brat, endure one more fart from this old gasbag; it’s true that spirits get the shit end of the stick-–but not always. Sometimes, they get lucky enough for some dumbass to notice them. So when that happens, you can always guarantee they’ll pay attention to that moron.”

Hyun’s irritation receded to something uncomfortably tingly, but he kept his scowl firm and turned back.

“Yeah? And how would you know, old man?”

The alley was deserted. Not even the lights from the passing taxis revealed any retreating shadows, nor were there any echoing footsteps to be heard when the vehicles had passed and left the street unusually silent, save for the distant storm drains emptying the last bits of the rain onto the ground.

…

Long after Hyun had stopped running, finally landing in bed later, he decided that night would be his last spent drunk for a long while.

Though he had shown up unannounced at a terrible time of night, Hyun was relieved that the older, recently retired gang buddy he’d made was true to his word about helping him out when needed. After some glasses of water and a long discussion, both had gone to bed feeling tentatively eager about helping each other along the way to their true paths.

When Zen woke up the next day, he’d met with the director of the theater to ask for training.

* * *

.

.

.

Six months later, as Zen took the stage properly for the first time; he cast his eyes to the farthest reaches of the theater seats once the production had arrived at the curtain call. He may not have been the lead that night, but all the same, he promised himself that all of the audience members that came to support them would be acknowledged.

Even those whose applause couldn’t be heard by everyone else.


End file.
